


Copious Consumption

by Artemis_Dreamer



Series: The Squishy Apocalypse [18]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Belly Rubs, Drabble, Dubious Biology, Energon, Failed Experiments, Fat Robots, Fluff, I'm Going to Hell, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Weight Gain, belly stuffing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-09
Updated: 2017-04-09
Packaged: 2018-10-16 19:01:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10577535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Artemis_Dreamer/pseuds/Artemis_Dreamer
Summary: Wheeljack resolutely ignored these warnings - the capabilities of his frame didn't matter. What mattered was sating the agonizing hunger that still gnawed at his processor, demanding that he consume more fuel by any means necessary.---In which there is no such thing as "enough" fuel.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TomorrowsHero](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TomorrowsHero/gifts).



> WARNING: This is a work of fetish fiction, involving belly stuffing and massive weight gain.
> 
> Don't like, don't read.

He had survived the fiery crash that had completely destroyed the Jackhammer. He had endured the aftermath of severe Tox-En poisoning without the aid of a medic. He had been shot and stabbed more times than even his advanced Cybertronian processor could count. And nearly every other decaorn, he blew himself up with yet another failed lab experiment.

So how was it possible for this insatiable hunger to be the worst pain that he had ever felt? Wheeljack didn't know, and quite frankly, he didn't care.

The inventor was otherwise occupied at the moment, with the desperate consumption of enough energon to fuel a small army. 

Tilting back his helm, Wheeljack poured the contents of yet another cube directly down his intake, groaning with desperation as the liquid settled heavily in his agonizingly full tanks. 

His plating was creaking audibly, his chassis straining to accommodate the exponential expansion of those aforementioned tanks. He was so impossibly over-fuelled that glaring red warnings had begun to appear on his HUD, cautioning of impending tank rupture and the potential for split plating.

Wheeljack resolutely ignored these warnings - the capabilities of his frame didn't matter. What mattered was sating the agonizing hunger that still gnawed at his processor, demanding that he consume more fuel by any means necessary. 

One more cube. Just one more cube would be enough. 

He'd said that two cubes ago, and three cubes before that, and twice after the first half dozen that he'd consumed. 

The inventor raised yet another full cube to his mouth, drinking from it greedily. Every gulp was delicious agony, sending even more of that rich, undiluted fuel straight into his tanks. He could feel them sloshing and gurgling beneath the strained plating of his chassis, could feel them protesting further with each desperate mouthful.

Some of the energon had managed to escape his mouth, running messily down his faceplates. One more mouthful. Just one more mouthful would be enough.

"Jackie?" His conjunx's voice called out for him, searching for him. A warm, familiar voice that cleared the inventor's processor in an instant. To his horror, he realized that he'd been trapped in an infinite loop.

The door to his workroom slid silently open, admitting the one mech who Wheeljack knew would invariably come to his aid. He was not disappointed - Bulkhead rushed immediately to the inventor's side, his EM field radiating concern and guilt.

"Jackie, are you okay? How much did you -" the Wrecker trailed off as he took a moment to absorb the scene before his optics. The massive pile of empty cubes, many of them cracked or broken. The sound of cooling fans working desperately to calm a dangerously stressed frame. The spilt energon that Wheeljack was still licking from his faceplates and servos. 

"Ratchet's going to deactivate me," Bulkhead groaned miserably.

The medic had appointed the Wrecker to supervise his conjunx's fuel consumption until the effects of the glitched metabolic inhibitor could be reversed. He'd been certain that taking just half an hour for himself wouldn't cause any harm - Miko had been firm in her insistence that they resume their regular band practice, and Bulkhead was reluctant to disappoint her.

Apparently, half an hour was all the time that Wheeljack had needed to gorge himself to the point of absurdity. 

The inventor groaned with an entirely different sort of pain as the hunger finally abated, replaced by the sheer agony of impossible fullness - his tanks were quite literally on the verge of rupture. He met his conjunx's concerned optics with a lopsided grin on his sticky faceplates.

"Do me a favour, Bulk?" the inventor panted. "My chassis hurts like Pit."

Nodding the affirmative, Bulkhead dropped to the floor alongside his conjunx. Wheeljack's wellbeing took precedence over all else, even over his irrational fear of the medic's foul temper.

As gently as his massive servos could possibly manage, the Wrecker began to stroke his conjunx's chassis, carefully soothing the strained plating. Said chassis proved to be distressingly solid and heavy beneath his digits, radiating an incredible amount of heat.

As his servos settled into a comforting rhythm, Bulkhead took a moment to count the cubes that had been haphazardly strewn across the floor. The Wrecker's optics widened with shock as he hastily counted them for a second time, and then for a third time, before finally addressing his conjunx.

"You ate half the rations for the entire decaorn," Bulkhead's tone was incredulous, though a hint of awe had somehow crept in.

Wheeljack chuckled, then abruptly moaned as the effort of the vocalization sent fresh agony spasming through his tanks. "Well, it's lucky I have the other half left," the inventor huffed. "I'm going to be hungry again tomorrow." 

Bulkhead shuttered his optics with momentary confusion, then realized that his phrasing may have been unclear - language had never been his strongest suit. 

"Not just half of your rations, Jackie. Half the rations for the entire team." He vocalized the words apprehensively. Forget Ratchet. Optimus would be the one to deactivate him - slowly, painfully, and with extreme prejudice. 

"Sure explains why I'm so full," Wheeljack smirked, his tone completely unconcerned. He was well aware that their leader would be furious. He was also well aware that there was no longer anything that could be done to remedy the situation.

"Tell Prime that I don't want to hear any complaining," the inventor chuckled again, then moaned as another wave of agony surged through his frame. "He's not the one in pain."

"Uh, Jackie - ?" Bulkhead interjected, surprised though not particularly shocked by the inventor's disrespectful sentiment. Wheeljack had little fondness for authority, and no qualms about making that clear.

However, his conjunx wasn't finished. "Tell him that if he really needs something to complain about, I'm more than willing to test the latest version of my inhibitor on his uptight aft. See how much he likes it." 

A snort of laughter escaped Bulkhead's vocalizer before it could be properly stifled. "That's terrible," the Wrecker chided, amusement lingering in his voice even as his faceplates heated with shame - threats to incapacitate the leader of the Autobot cause weren't supposed to be funny.

However, Bulkhead knew his conjunx all too well - knew that despite the vehemence of the inventor's threat, it was merely a joke. Loose cannon though he may have been, Wheeljack despised infighting, and had no desire whatsoever to harm his teammates.

Continuing to massage his conjunx's chassis, Bulkhead could feel the tanks within churning desperately as they attempted to process such a massive amount of fuel. They both knew that it wasn't possible. Nearly all of that fuel would end up being converted to fat, expanding Wheeljack's soft, massive frame to even greater proportions. 

A shudder of anticipation ran down Bulkhead's spinal struts. His conjunx was becoming bigger and more beautiful by the orn. 

The inventor, it seemed, could read his processor. Laying a servo atop the Wrecker's own, Wheeljack asked the one question that his conjunx had been dreading.

"You'd like it, wouldn't you?" Surprisingly, Wheeljack didn't seem even the least bit upset, his tone calm and thoughtful.

"Like what?" Bulkhead clumsily feigned ignorance, another flush of heat and energon rising to his faceplates. His conjunx rarely judged him, but in this instance his desires were both bizarre and embarrassing.

"If I got even bigger. If I got so frelling huge that I could barely move without your help." Wheeljack smirked. "You'd like that, wouldn't you." It wasn't a question.

His conjunx said nothing. 

"I'm lucky to have you." The inventor reassured his fellow Wrecker. "Anymech else would have left me the klik this whole fiasco started. I'm not sure I want to be any bigger, but I'll spend another decaorn or two like this if it'll make you happy." 

"You're not kidding?" Bulkhead blurted, taken aback by his conjunx's generosity and understanding. For Jackie to remain in this form, even if it was only for a short while, would be a dream come true for the Wrecker. 

Bulkhead adored every last roll of the inventor's massive frame, from his bulging chestplates to his thick love handles, from the pillowy softness of his sides to the slight wobbling of his second chin. 

Of course, Bulkhead adored Wheeljack's belly above all else. It had become a sphere of pure fat so large that his arms could barely encircle a third of its girth. A sphere of pure fat so large that the inventor could barely bend forward, never mind being able to see his own pedes. A plush, gorgeous sphere of pure fat that felt like heaven beneath his servos, no matter whether it was achingly firm or sumptuously soft.

"I'm not kidding," Wheeljack reassured his conjunx, tugging the other mech more closely against his swollen chassis and pressing a firm kiss to those startled lipplates. Bulkhead deserved to be happy.

One more decaorn. Just one more decaorn would be enough. 

One more decaorn of gorging himself any time that he felt even the slightest bit of hunger. One more decaorn of revelling in the freedom of a frame so plush and massive that it was practically sinful. One more decaorn of his conjunx's nigh-reverential adoration.

One more decaorn. Just one more decaorn would be enough.

He'd be saying that again two decaorns from now, and three decaorns after that, and twice more before the end of the stellar cycle. 

Bulkhead deserved to be happy. So did he.

**Author's Note:**

> For TomorrowsHero, who requested more squishy Wheeljack. Hope that you like it!
> 
> This is my first attempt at writing liquid/energon stuffing - I tend to rely on sweets to make my mechs squishy. Not sure if I did it justice, but it was a fun change of pace. 
> 
> I'm working on a bunch of requests at the moment. If all goes well, they should all be done in the next couple of weeks. I appreciate your patience.
> 
> As always, any and all feedback is appreciated.


End file.
